CLAIRE DANIELS glanced around Decadentâs crowded dance floor, with its pulsating colored lights and equally pulsating bass beat, and wondered what the devil she was doing there.
Okay, so she didnât actually wonder. Instead, she blamed her best friend, Alyssa, for dragging her there, dateless, on New Yearâs Eve.
âBlow toy?â An Adonis of a guy in a tight black T-shirt with Decadent stamped across it in cracked, white ghetto-style letters held something out to her, a suggestive smile on his mouth.
âExcuse me?â Claire lifted a single eyebrow in the haughty gesture that sheâd perfected at the age of eight, after spending too much time watching Star Trek reruns, and then camping out in her bathroom until sheâd been able to convince her facial muscles to move in such a way.
âFor midnight,â the guy said, his half-smile suggesting that he knew exactly how far into the gutter her thoughts had been. âA noisemaker.â
âOh. Right. Sure. Thanks.â She snatched the gizmo, gave it an experimental toot and then smiled up at the Adonis. âGreat. Thanks. Thisâll be fun.â Her words were clipped and rushed, designed to get him to go away so that she could get back to her originally scheduled misery at being alone, in a bar, on New Yearâs Eve. The date night to rival all date nights.
Honestly, she shouldnât have come.
Adonis-boy melted into the crowd, and Claire scanned the room, looking for Alyssa so that she could tell her friend sheâd had enough and she was going to go home. At least at home she could cuddle under a blanket and get all comfy in sweatpants. At least at home, she wouldnât feel like an idiot come midnight when everyone else was locked in a passionate kiss, and she was standing around twiddling her thumbs.
Alyssa, however, was nowhere to be found. But, frankly, that wasnât terribly troubling. Because what Claireâs gaze lighted upon could only be described as eye candy of the most decadent sort. Tall and lean, and decked out in Texas formal, his jeans just tight enough to give a woman a serious appreciation for the man underneath, and his starched white button-down still perfectly crisp despite the heat generated by the crush of bodies in the room.
Even from where she stood, she could tell that his eyes were blue, and at the moment, they were scoping out the club, as if he was a monarch surveying his kingdom. And, oh, yeah, he looked like royalty. From the way he held himself, to the rogueish, Iâm-the-dude-in-charge stubble that graced his strong jawline, he was so perfect that if he were a picture Claire would swear that heâd been digitally enhanced. The man was the visual equivalent of a Ben & Jerryâs overdose, rich and wonderful and utterly bad for you.
Down, girl.
Then again, why?
The guy was hot. He was looking her way. And she was single and, at the moment, very, very available.
She took a step in his direction only to be stymied in her quest to go after what she wanted with gusto when a burly guy in a Decadent T-shirt approached Mr. Texas Royalty. They spoke for a few minutes, and then her gorgeous fantasy of a man followed the burly guy in the opposite direction, his expression stern.
Security, she assumed. Which meant that Texas Royalty was either working security, too, or heâd just been kicked out of the club.
Either way, it did her no good. If he was security, he was working. And if he was kicked outâ¦Well, she was primed for a wild night with a hot man, but she was hoping to keep her crazy fling on the semi-responsible side. Hooking up with guys who got kicked out of dance clubs was not on her list of top ten smart things to do.
Too bad. Mr. Texas Royalty was seriously easy on the eyes. And right then, dammit, yes, she wanted a man. Wanted to get up close and personal. Wanted to work off some of the sexual frustration that had been building and building since sheâd broken up with Joe. It had been months and months since sheâd gotten naked with anyone other than her handheld shower-head, and she was really craving a manâs touch right now.
You could have had one, Claire.
She grabbed a Jell-O shot from a passing waitress, then snarfed it back, snorting. Oh, yeah. She could have had a man, all right. Joe. Her ex. The man whoâd dumped her after almost a year of dating, and thenâwhen sheâd foolishly called and suggested they have a drink, just to see if there was any way back for the two of themâheâd suddenly decided that sex was a great little reconciliation tool.